


In All The Wrong Places

by Sambomaster



Category: Hockey RPF, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M, and an unnecessary amount of doctor doom, so many suits references, space termites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sambomaster/pseuds/Sambomaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Seriously?” Tony boggled, appalled.</p><p>Steve flushed. “Well,” He rubbed at his hair. “I just thought, you know, people seem so open about it nowadays—</p><p>“No, you’re gay, that’s fine. Whatever. Congratulations.” Tony interrupted. “But a hockey player? Out of all the—a Canadian sport, really? Where’s your sense of patriotism?”</p><p>“Hey!” Steve protested, offended. “He’s American!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In All The Wrong Places

**Author's Note:**

> NO THIS IS NOT CRACK. 
> 
> This takes place in an ambiguous timeline wherein Steve has been awake for more than a year or two but in a fictional hockey season that should have occurred this year and Steve's identity isn't a secret. Or rather, the public doesn't know about it, but it isn't like 'top-secret'.

When Kaner had thought on tonight’s game this morning he’d expected a brutal thrashing of the New York Rangers, or, when he felt particularly spiteful, the brutal thrashing of the New York Rangers and an intentional elbow to Rick Nash’s face. 

What he hadn’t expected was to spend the entirety of the third period holed up in the bowels of Madison Square Garden, waiting for space termites to stop besieging the city. 

Sometimes when Kaner was feeling particularly sympathetic he wondered how in the hell the Rangers could go on with life in the continuous shitshow that was New York City. Kaner had never felt more fortunate to live in a city like Chicago than he was when he turned on the news every night to watch the daily spectacle of New York City supervillains. He’d take a thirty-eight percent homicide rate over invasion by mutant homicidal sea turtles any day. And considering this wasn’t the first time this _week_ that a variety of space aliens and/or deep sea creatures had invaded Madison Square Garden in the middle of their game Kaner really had to applaud the Rangers for their record. 

“You think it’ll stop any time soon?” Seabs whispered fiercely, scrunched into a ball so tightly he was almost as small as Kaner. Seabs was not a fan of termites. Or, for that matter, being underground when there were termites. No one else but Kaner seemed to have noticed the logical fallacy in that.

Above them, the lights flickered ominously. Lockers rattled and the ground beneath them shook as if a subway had taken off beneath them. That, or a miniature earthquake. At this point, it could’ve been either. 

“I hope so.” The blonde sighed, but nonetheless began to strip himself of his sweaty gear. He’d at least gotten most of his upper body done, but the socks were truly starting to smell offensive. 

“On the bright side,” Shawsy piped up from his left, “This’ll probably fuck with their motivation. I mean, look at the Super Bowl! San Francisco almost came back because of that delay.”

“Something tells me the Rangers are better equipped to handle a delay of game by space invasion than we are.” Sharpy pointed out, sprawled on the opposite side of the locker room and looking resigned to his fate; mainly being the voice of reason in a cramped locker room for the unforeseeable future. 

Shawsy pouted. “You never know.”

“Anybody else wondering, why _termites_?” Hayes thought aloud. “I mean, there’re a lot of things that can come out of space and fuck with us... I could name like, _five_ way cooler animals that coulda came out of a bunch of space portals in the Hudson River—”

Shawsy sat upright. “Holy fuck man, _ligers_ —

“I dunno, zebra’s could be pretty cool.” Krugs cut in.

Carbomb scoffed. “Why are we going safari? Jellyfish, man. Killer space jellyfish—

“Giant three-headed llama goats.” Everyone paused to stare at Duncs.

“What?” He asked, defensively. “I had a dream about them last night.”

The locker room immediately burst into a flurry of noise at that, quelled quickly by Captain Serious, standing up from his spot at the front of the room. “Alright, that’s enough.” He scolded, in that hilarious voice of his he used when he thought people actually listened to him. “We’re supposed to be fucking quiet down here.”

Everyone had the decency to look cowed at that. 

“And for the record,” He added as he sat back down. “It’d be space pirates. Space pirate monkeys.”

Duncs threw his hands up in the air. 

Silence reigned again, and Kaner fidgeted nervously in his seat. He reached into his bag and tugged on a pair of socks just for something to do, wiggling his toes in them to keep them warm against the startling draft. Sweat cooled on his skin, irritating, drying in his hair and probably making it look outrageously curly and disastrous. The locker stayed quiet, the noiseless existence grating on his nerves. 

He stood up then, suddenly unable to take it anymore. It was driving him nuts, being down here, joking around or sitting in silence but ultimately pretending like he wasn’t about to shit himself over fucking space termites. 

He moved towards the mouth of the locker room, where a strangely relaxed security officer lounged near the doorway.

“Yo,” He greeted. “You think there’s anyway I could go to the bathroom?”

The officer gave him a deadpan look.

“Nature calls.” He smiled as charmingly as possible. Not entirely untrue, either—he’d had to piss since the beginning of the third. 

“Sure you can’t wait?” The guy asked. “Reports are saying the invasion’s moving up thirty-forth street. That’s awful close.”

Kaner shrugged. “I’ll take my chances.” And then, “Besides, this happens all the time, right? Don’t tell me all the Rangers just chill in their locker room for a couple hours without having to take a piss.”

The man looked dubious. 

“Or at the very least, Lundqvist would have to go and check on his hair.” Kaner joked. 

He cracked a grin at that. “Man, you have no idea.” He laughed. “Sometimes its un-fucking-blievable how much shit goes down in New York; all the teams just have to get used to it I guess.”

“No kidding.” Kaner laughed, shifting his weight back and forth. He really hadn’t had to go earlier, but now that he’d sat on the idea of it for a while now… “I don’t know what I’d do if I played for New York.”

“Knicks have it the worst.” The security officer confided casually—looking unnaturally content with the proceedings. “It seems like every time they play something goes wrong on eighth avenue—they’ve had to reschedule the Thunder games three times now.”

“That’s awful.” Pat said, with so much sympathy for the Knicks and their inability to play the Thunder—like the Thunder wouldn’t crush them anyway. “So, I can go, right? That’s cool?”

He laughed. “Sure, sure. Just to the bathroom, alright? Try to be quick about it, don’t want to run into any space monsters while you’re out there.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Kaner waved him off and hurriedly sped down the hall. 

That was definitely not on his agenda. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem that his agenda meant very much. 

The bathrooms lay adjacent to the locker rooms—not even a ten foot walk of tiled flooring between them—and Kaner slipped in quietly, feeling his heart speed up and berating himself for it. For god’s sake, they were just _space termites_. When the loud speaker had announced the stoppage in play Kaner had almost doubled over in laughter at the idea of it. It’d sounded funny at the time; of course, hearing about it and being in the middle of it were two entirely different things. Kaner had never been more terrified of the idea of termites in his life.

So of course, the moment he opened the bathroom door, he was met with the most vile, repugnant stench he’d ever had the misfortune of smelling and the disturbing sight of a half dozen fat slug-like creatures attempting to wiggle their way out of the bathroom plumbing system; of which they had completely destroyed and in the process upended what seemed to be the entire New York City septic system. He choked at the stench of them, but if he was going to hurl it'd probably come from the sight, not the smell. The largest, ugliest creatures he'd ever seen flopped on the floor, wiggling around before ultimately setting their sights on him.

“Oh,” He said, faintly. “That’s gross.”

And closed the door. 

The moment he did so a dull thud resounded from the other side, followed quickly by another. And another.

Kaner backed away slowly, facing the now shaking door. When his back hit the wall, he pitched to the side and booked it down the hallway, just in time to hear the door splinter off. 

Wonderful. Not only would he forever woe the opportunity to stick his elbow up Rick Nash’s nose he would now not be known as the hockey player who won the Stanley Cup for the Chicago Blackhawks, but as the hockey player who died by space termite invasion. He didn’t dare look back as he sprinted down the maze like labyrinth of the Garden basement, but he heard the slick, slobbering noises of giant space termites chasing after him all the same.

Wait what the fuck, how was that even a noise he knew. 

He probably could’ve outran them, too.

Space monsters they may be but he was a fucking professional athlete—in the middle of the fucking season, too. He could’ve sprinted on for at least another twenty minutes before inevitably giving in to death by space larvae… if he hadn’t been bodily tackled into a storage closet just as the entire roof came hurtling down, that is.

He felt two arms like steel clamp around him, lifting him off his feet halfway through his shout of, _“What in the fuck—“_

The impact knocked his breath away, and his head collided with something solid and he wasn’t sure if he couldn’t see because his vision blacked out or it was too dark. 

Patrick was almost entirely sure he was dead now.

Through all that swimming his head was doing he could vaguely hear an incredible, booming noise that was probably Madison Square Garden crumbling inwards, with a shake that rattled his very bones. It was so cold and dark, sweat cloying against him and damp against his skin, breath choking on thick, chalky air. Or was he even breathing? It was hard to tell. Everything hurt and yet remained numb at the same time—like he was in the middle of some out of body experience. Did he die? Was he dead right now? 

That was it, then. This was death. Death by space termites. 

His last thought slipped away with his consciousness at that, this time well and truly falling into the darkness.

*

“Well, how was I supposed to know they’d go through the plumbing?”

Kaner scrunched his brow against the pounding in his head.

“—Tony, why would I know the New York sewage system?” 

Was that a voice? He was too disoriented to tell. Maybe he was making all this up. Maybe heaven was real and he was about to be escorted to the after life. Wait a minute, if there was anywhere he'd be going after death, it definitely wasn't _heaven_.

“No, wait, yes. Yes, I’m down here. No, I don’t think I can get out. Maybe bring Hulk down to clear some of this rubble? I'm fine, there’s plenty of breathable air… it’s a little cramped though.”

Kaner groaned, attempting to move. Most of his left side hurt like a bitch, though.

“I know right? Why is it that every time the subway takes a three foot drop I lose my reception but I’m buried under the rubble of Madison Square Garden with four bars. I wouldn’t know, Tony. Build better radio towers. Yes, I’m going to blame you—they’re your inventions!”

This time, he managed a sitting position, blinking at the searing light that met his eyes. 

“Yikes! Sorry about that.”

The light tilted off into another direction—flashlight. It was a flashlight. Without it burning against his retina he could peer around what appeared to be the remains of a janitor’s closet. The entire right wall had fallen over in favor of slabs of concrete, another large piece jutted narrowly over his head. Most of the shelves had fallen, cleaning solution soaking into the floor and making everything smell like bleach.

He turned towards the other occupant of the closet.

And almost lost consciousness again.

Captain America was sprawled out on the opposite side of the closet, shield and armor and all, one of his feet so close to Kaner’s that if he just nudged his toe a little bit they’d be touching. The idea of it was so bewildering he had no idea what to say. 

“Are you alright?” Oh. Oh god. Captain America was speaking to him. He was looking at him—

Kaner swallowed. “I think so.” He replied, weakly. 

“Sorry I had to tackle you.” He smiled somewhat sympathetically. It was hard to tell from beneath the cowl. “I knew the building was collapsing and figured the safest bet wouldn’t be the hallway.”

“Yeah, I—“ He broke off with shock. “The _building_ collapsed?”

Captain America nodded. “Yeah. Well, half the building anyway. The termites were moving underground—they managed to uproot most of the foundation of the building when they broke out of the plumbing.”

Kaner’s mouth worked for something to say, thoughts racing faster than he could catch them. Finally, he managed, “What about my team?”

“Team?”

“I, I play hockey.” He explained shakily. “We had a game today against the Rangers. They were all in the locker room—

“There’s been no report of casualties.” The captain cut him off, much to his relief. “Like I said, only half the building fell down. Everyone’s been evacuated to the surface.”

And then, sheepishly. “Well, everyone but us anyway.”

Kaner remained in a constant state of shock, unable to pry his eyes away from the figure in front of him. As a kid, he used to spend all his time indoors fussing over Captain America comics. On days with bad weather he’d sit in his room and read the same four over and over again, yelling at his sisters when they tried to read with him. 

And the real Captain America… well, the real Captain America was really nice. And, and normal. With an apparent sense of humor. 

“Sorry,” He heard himself say. “I think I’m in shock.”

Captain America nodded. “That’s totally normal. Head hurt?”

“Not really. But I meant, about everything. It’s not everyday my game gets postponed because of a space termite invasion, and then I end up in a closet with Captain America.”

The captain laughed weakly. “Well, welcome to New York I guess.”

“No kidding.” Kaner felt laughter bubbling up too, suddenly seeing how ludicrous his entire situation looked. 

“No other pain?”

“My leg hurts, but it feels like just a bit of bruising.”

“That’s good. Try to get comfortable, yeah? From what Tony—Iron Man— is saying it sounds like we’re gonna be down here for a while.”

And then, unbelievably, he pulled his cowl off to reveal the most attractive man Kaner had ever seen in his life. If he wasn’t so surprised he might have popped a boner.

“ _You’re_ Captain America?” Came out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“I’m Steve Rogers, actually.” Captain America—Steve—replied, dryly. “But yes, I go by that too. And you are?”

He swallowed. “Patrick. Patrick Kane.”

“Well it’s swell to meet you, Patrick Kane.” He smiled, dazzlingly. Kaner bet he’d made people faint with that smile before. And, did he just use ‘ _swell_ ’ in a sentence? “Sorry it had to be in such unpleasant circumstances.”

“I don’t think that could really be considered your fault.” He pointed out, feeling more and more bewildered. How was Captain America still talking to him? And for that matter, being so _nice_ to him? And the most pertinent question, how was Kaner still managing to hold a conversation?

If possible, his smile brightened further. “Tony—I mean, Ironman—seems to think it is. He was the one who figured out that you know, termites, probably invading from the ground and all that. He’s a little right though, if I’d just gotten down here faster I could’ve told them where the infestation was before the termites ate through the building’s foundation.”

“Why termites though?” Patrick asked. He felt that if he came out of this even unscathed and without asking that pertinent question the entirety of the Blackhawks may have his head. 

Steve shrugged. “Not sure. Reed Richards was messing around with his space portals again—he must’ve picked the wrong world or something.”

“I feel like, for someone who’s not a supervillain, Dr. Richards sure causes a lot of problems.”

That startled a bark out of Steve. “Oh, you’re not the only one. Reed’s a good guy, he means well and all that… sometimes I think he just gets a little carried away.”

“I’ll say.” Kaner agreed, nodding. He looked down, eye catching suddenly on the fact that he was less than two inches away from Captain America and wearing literally nothing.

Great. Here he was, stuck in a storage closet with Captain America, the bane of his teenage self’s existence, dressed in nothing but a ratty Blackhawks t-shirt and a pair of compression shorts. 

How was this his life. 

And, even more surprising, he actually was beginning to genuinely enjoy himself. Captain America—or Steve, as he insisted Kaner call him—knew nothing about hockey aside from the fact that it was a sport played a lot in Canada, and Kaner had taken it upon himself to regale his sport as the best sport that was ever invented. Steve didn’t disagree, but he certainly didn’t agree, either. Unfortunately, Steve seemed to already have a favorite sport—one that was not hockey. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a Cub’s game every once in a while,” He was saying, Steve’s face making funny expressions when Kaner admitted he wasn’t a great fan of baseball. “But, it’s so _boring_. One time I fell asleep in the first inning, for _three hours_ , woke up and it was barely the bottom of the fifth! How can you sit through a whole game?”

“It’s the American sport.” Steve refuted. “You can’t… it doesn’t matter if its really long, that’s the point! You spend the whole day and enjoy it.”

“It’s the American _pastime_ ,” Kaner disagreed. “And it’s boring.” He reiterated, to emphasize his point. 

“You’re biased.” Steve pointed out wryly. “You’re a professional athlete, of course you think your sport is the best.”

“Hey, I love basketball.” Kaner protested. “I would love to play, aside from the fact I’m not black, have no hops, and don't even reach six feet.”

This startled another laugh out of Captain America, a joyous, surprised little sound. Which was so unfortunate for Kaner, he’d barely met the guy and already it seemed like he was head over heels, wanted nothing more than to always make him laugh, always hear that sound. 

“I rep the Bulls like it’s my _job_ ,” He boasted, hilariously wondering what Derrick would say right now if he knew Kaner was repping the Chicago Bulls to Captain America.

Steve was smiling, shaking his head. “I suppose I’m a Knicks fan. Back when I was a kid, they used to call them the Knickerboxers—

“No fucking way.” Kaner interrupted, looking far too pleased. “When was this? Back in the stone ages?”

“The nineteen-forties, actually.” Steve sniffed. “I’m not that old.”

That brought a thought to his mind, though. “What was it like?” He asked, genuinely curious. Steve turned his head, blinking at him. “You know, for you. Growing up.”

He still wasn’t saying anything, and Kaner backtracked hastily. “I mean, it’s just, it was big news when you came back, you know? But you never really hear much about, well, about _you_. Not like, the war stuff, I’m pretty sure the comics have that covered—

Steve groaned, embarrassed. He’d forgotten about those things. 

“But there’s nothing on you, as a person.” Kaner finished. And then, flushing. “You don’t have to tell me, I know it’s personal… you probably don’t want, like, random fans knowing all this stuff about you—

“No, it’s fine.” Steve mercifully cut him off. “I guess I’m just surprised. Everyone likes to hear the war stories, y’know? It’s funny, really, everyone asks me what it was like to punch Hitler in the face—and I never did that! It was propaganda, or something like that. But that’s what people like to hear; they like to hear about the hero.”

He looked back at Kaner, who remained still, watching him with big, wide eyes. 

“I wasn’t always like this.” He gestured to himself. He wondered why he felt so compelled to share his life with this, this random boy he’d saved from space termites, trapped in this storage closet. It felt like they were completely removed from the rest of the world, existing in this strange not-dream where it was only the two of them, everything focused down until it was just Patrick. Patrick, who was looking at him so curiously, so genuinely. He didn’t look like some beat reporter digging for a paycheck, or some fan enthralled with the idea of Captain America. He looked… like he honestly wanted to know Steve. Just Steve. There were few times in his life that someone had looked at him and wanted to get to know him simply because they chose to. Before the war people who wanted to befriend the sickly, skinny Rogers kid were few and far between. And in the war, he was Captain America, the hero, the victor. There was Bucky, of course. Bucky who had always been there, who had always cared. And Peggy. Definitely Peggy.

But Bucky and Peggy were long gone now, and all he had left in this vast new world were Shield and the Avengers.

And while he loved his team, they were his _team_ , it really wasn't the same.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Super Soldier serum.”

“Well sure.” Kaner nodded. “I mean, I know it existed? And you, that’s why you’re so… well, you.”

He cracked a smile at that. “Pretty much. But before that, I was the scrawniest kid you’d have ever seen. I was probably 5’ 4” or something, always sick and picking fights with bullies even when I knew I’d never win. People never expected much of me, I was short and skinny and shy and, and definitely not anything like Captain America.”

Patrick was still watching him with big earnest eyes, like Steve was the most rapturous, fascinating thing in the entire world. He found he kind of liked that look, focused on him. 

“Me too.” Pat replied, softly. “People used to always underestimate me. They still do. I’m definitely not big enough to play hockey, too short and small I guess, and even more so when I was first drafted.” He chuckled. “This guy, Bill Simmons, real famous sportscaster, took one look at me in the draft and said I was _‘an undersized American who looks like the third singer in a boy band’._ ”

Steve choked on his laughter, before guiltily looking up at Patrick. But Patrick was smiling. 

“I know. It was true though, back then, I was barely even 170. That’s really, really tiny for a hockey player. People always doubted me, but that only made me want to prove myself more.”

“I know exactly how you feel.” Steve agreed quietly. “I’ve always felt like I have something to prove, to everyone. To the people who made me who I am today, to myself, to America. To, I don’t know, reassure them that they made the right choice in putting their faith in me.”

He didn’t know why he felt so warm at the thought of sharing this with someone who really was a total stranger. He hadn’t even voiced this to his own team, to the Avengers that were now practically his family. Yet somehow, Patrick Kane and his big, sincere blue eyes made him want to share it all.

“They did, you know.” Patrick confided with this tiny, reserved little smile. “Make the right choice.” 

He kicked Steve’s foot playfully with his. “I’ve always thought you were pretty cool.” Patrick admitted shyly. “You’re a superhero, you like save the world and stuff like that all the time. Hell, I bet space termite invasions are just run of the mill for you, and you’re always so like, nice. In the comics, and in interviews and stuff. But you’re just as, as _good_ in person as you are on TV. You’re… you’re real, you know? You’re a really cool guy, Steve.”

Steve felt like his ears were turning pink. “I… thank you.” 

He had fans come up to him all the time, adoring and wonderful and always telling him how amazing he was. He’d never felt particularly bashful about it; he was always thankful that he had such a supportive country behind him. But somehow Patrick in all his honesty had him turning red. 

* 

Perhaps Patrick should have found it weirder he got along so well with a man so vastly different from him. It was more than just the obvious; Steve was born like seventy years before him and lived through a completely different time period, fought in the war and was a fucking _superhero_. But Steve also reminded him a lot of Jonny, very mature and responsible and level-headed—just as serious, although clearly not all the time. He joked more, and he had a great smile that he flashed around like he didn’t realize how lethal that thing was at point blank range. And when it centered on him, it felt like Kaner’s heart flipped upside down. 

And Jonny and Pat, well, they got a long for sure. They were best friends and at one point, a lot more than that. But Jonny disapproved of pretty much all of Pat’s life choices, and he always had this judgmental air about him, like he was waiting for Pat to fuck up again all the time. 

OK, so maybe it wasn’t all that weird. Steve was everything Pat loved about Jonny and then some, wrapped up in a winsome smile and deliciously tight spandex. 

So sue him, he was enjoying himself. Why not? It wasn’t like the opportunity to eye-fuck Captain America would arise again in his lifetime. He was enjoying himself and it really wasn’t weird at all how well they got along, how relaxed he felt, how he opened right up about himself and all his fears, how Steve opened up right back. He told him about Brooklyn in the 40’s, how he’d spend all his free time holed up in the library because he loved to learn and the library had free heating and he could never afford a heater at home. Told him about how scared he was about going to war, but still so, so determined to make a difference. And even about the war, what it was like standing in the destroyed remains of a Nazi camp and wondering how humankind could do this to itself. 

In return Kaner revealed his fears, too. How he felt when he left home at fourteen, how it felt knowing he would be gone for good, never to truly live a carefree teenage life again. But how much he wanted it anyway. How excited he was for the Olympics and yet how terrified he was of not proving himself to his country. What it was like to win the Stanley Cup and then drop out in the first round right after. And how manic he got when everything went wrong, how restless he became and how he had to do something, anything, and sometimes drinking away his memories seemed like the best idea. 

And Steve—Steve didn’t judge him, didn’t frown all criticizing, didn’t look disappointed. 

The look in his eyes when Pat chanced a glance up was something he couldn't decipher. Something gentle, though.

Patrick didn’t get it, really. How he could feel so close to someone he'd only just met, someone so radically different from him.

On his part, Steven didn’t really understand it either.

He wasn’t sure why, but Patrick, he really felt like something else. Steve didn’t know what it was, but there was definitely something about him. He struck Steve differently, and Steve always followed his instincts; they’d never lead him wrong in the war, in the field. And Patrick… he felt _something_. Nothing bad, but he made the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up all the same and he was having a hard time placing why—

“You’re a hard man to find, Captain America!”

Steve looked up at that, just as a large slab of rock hefted away to reveal shafts of sunlight. 

He squinted up, unaccustomed to any light aside from the flashlight he’d found in the closet. The real light was harsh, chasing away the cloying, intimate feeling that had settled into the small space. 

Thor beamed down at him, hair a wild, tangled mane. Tony hovered above him with his repulsors, cutting them off abruptly to land behind the blonde god, waltzing over. 

“Thor!” Steve greeted, relieved at the sight of his friend but also somewhat disappointed that the moment was forever ruined. 

“My most esteemed friend Captain America!” Thor greeted boomingly. “How fortunate we found you so quickly!”

“So, termite invasion is cleared, New York is saved once again, no thanks to you. What have you been doing down there? Trying to beat Tetris again?” Tony sniffed, making a show of inspecting his gloves.

Steve grinned. “You _can't_ beat Tetris Tony, but nice try. And it’s good to know you can function without me.”

“Don’t think you’re so special.” Tony scoffed. The mask turned to Kaner, impassive steel helmet unnerving when the lifeless, metal eyes turned to him. “Oh? Who’s this? Saving more damsels in distress, Rogers? Why am I not surprised—

“He’s not a dame, this is Patrick, Patrick Kane” Steve introduced with a happy laugh. “He plays hockey. That’s why he’s here, actually—hey, you think we could find his team for him?”

“Greetings Patrick, son of Kane!” Thor boomed. "It is most pleasurable to meet you! How unfortunate it occurred during such difficult circumstances."

The Iron Man's helmet cocked to the side, like he was listening to something Patrick couldn't hear. “Widow says two were evacuated. Which one are you talking about?"

“The Blackhawks.” Patrick answered immediately, moving to stand. His leg almost gave out on him, taking him by surprise. He hadn’t though it was injured that badly. 

“Whoa!” Steve immediately shot to steady him. “Be careful, huh? That might be sprained.”

Kaner groaned. “I really, really hope not.” The last thing he wanted was an injury. Again. 

Steve looked down at him worriedly. Kaner studiously avoided thinking about Steve’s big, warm hands on his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, dubiously. “I don’t think you should be walking.”

“I’ll be fine.” Kaner protested. At this point he’d rather limp all the way back to his team than be carried by Captain America, popping a boner the whole time. 

Steve frowned. “Well at least let me help you out of here. The way up can't be good for your leg.”

“Already ahead of you Rogers.” And with that, Iron Man dropped from above. He landed in front of Kaner, shaking the ground with the impact. 

He wrapped one metal arm around Kaner, Kaner too stunned to protest, and lifted off, flying him up to the surface and dropping him right back down with little fanfare.

“Well, that was terrifying.” Was all he had to say on this three seconds of flight. 

Iron Man laughed. 

Steve vaulted right over the top of the rubble, probably finding the climb up effortless, sunshine hitting him gorgeously. Thor followed, floating merrily, tossing his hair against the wind. He’d have probably made a joke—at least in his head—about the relative attractiveness of the entire Avengers, but Kaner was still stuck on the whole ‘floating’ part. 

“Where were they evacuated to?” Steve asked as he approached them. 

Kaner noticed he stood rather close to him, but that was probably because he was still worried for his safety. 

Iron Man made a vague noise, distorted hilariously by the suit. “Uh, that way? How would I know?” He turned to Thor. “Buddy, you know where they went?”

Thor looked regretful. “I’m afraid I do not know.” He turned to Patrick, clasping his shoulder in what was probably meant to be a gentle grip but actually hurt like a bitch. "However, do not fear! We shall find your fellow players of the sport of hockey soon enough." 

And, as if Kaner hadn’t met enough super heroes today, Black Widow flipped over a large jutting of rock, landing gracefully in a smooth crouch. Somehow she made walking look sinfully attractive, swaying over with a cat-like countenance. He may or may not have gotten a semi just by looking at her. 

"Widow!" Iron Man greeted extravagantly. The Black Widow skewered him with a look of vague annoyance. "Just the beautiful gal I wanted to see-"

“All the evacuees from the Garden are being held on 9th.” She answered smoothly, not even sparing Kaner a glance. 

Ah, well, he was used to unnecessarily attractive women doing that. 

Steve didn’t look pleased. “That’s a pretty far walk.”

He was giving Kaner that look again, like he was contemplating throwing him over his shoulder and walking him over there—or worse, carrying him bridle style. Admittedly, neither of those were all that displeasing of options, if Kaner didn’t care about his pride, anyway. 

“It’s really not a problem.” He protested. His mind vehemently rejected the idea of Steve carrying him. His heart, however, insisted upon it.

At this, Black Widow spared him a quick, cursory side-glance, before turning back to Iron Man. “I could call a car.” She offered. 

“Not necessary—“ 

Kaner started, at the same time Steve replied, “I could just carry him over, really.”

At Steve’s insistence, Black Widow actually turned to give him a real, head on look. Was that a once over? His ears started to burn.

“Well, if it means that much to you…” There was something to her sultry voice then, that Kaner didn’t quite understand. 

Steve rubbed at his hair. He looked… sheepish? “Well, I just, I mean… all the police cars are probably a little busy, yeah? It seems foolish to call them when I could help out so easily…”

“I’d appreciate _not_ being carried.” Kaner sighed, using his better judgment and ignoring the small part of him that withered away and died at the thought of never feeling Captain America’s arms around him, carrying him to safety. “But, Steve’s probably right, there’s really no need for a car.”

At this, impossibly, the whole team boggled at him.

Kaner blinked back.

Finally, Iron man croaked out, “ _Steve_?”

Kaner blushed. “Oh. Am I supposed to call him Captain America all the time?”

By his side, Steve was also turning a startling shade of red. “Well, I mean, it’s not a secret really…”

"Oh, no, no." Iron Man began magnanimously."Call him whatever you want. Sugar cube, bugaboo, it's entirely up to you." Kaner wasn’t sure how it was possible, but the mask looked amused.

If possible, Steve turned redder as Iron Man added, “Well come on then prince charming, what are you standing around for? Go escort your princess.” And with that, he started to chuckle. Kaner blinked at them all in confusion. Was this like, some sort of secret running joke between them all? Even Widow looked vaguely amuse, something of a smile quirking at the side of her voluminous lips. Thor's grin could probably be seen from space.

Steve rolled his eyes, still blushing furiously, but he threw an arm around Kaner regardless. It had the immediate effect of lifting Patrick half off the ground, all the pressure taken away from his hurt leg. A shiver ran through him. He’d completely forgotten that this was Captain America, who threw cars up with one hand and, if the comics were to be trusted, held a building up with his biceps. Saved kittens from trees and helped old ladies cross the street. Did old ladies get this special treatment? He suddenly found himself incredibly jealous of old women. 

Steve was surprisingly embarrassed about it. “I’m so, so sorry about them.” He apologized once Tony Stark’s raucous laughter faded from ear shot. “They’re not normally that over the top.” He paused, “Okay, yes they are.”

Kaner shook his head with a laugh. "I should be the one apologizing. Sorry they gave you so much shit over me."

"They're not, it's not... I-" At this rate, the color would never leave Steve's face. "Don't apologize. I'm sorry if they made you uncomfortable, that was really unprofessional of them."

Kaner snorted. “No, that was awesome! I came to New York thinking I’d be here for a pretty tame game of hockey and not much else—instead I just met all the Avengers!”

“Well, almost all.” Steve agreed. His steps slowed to match Kaner’s, until they walked side by side so close together Patrick could feel the heat of him all the way down his side. Around them eighth avenue looked to be in the middle of a meltdown, sewer lids blown open and debatably safe sewage seeping onto sidewalks. Sirens wailed from behind skyscrapers, echoing against the empty streets. “It’s probably a good thing you didn’t meet Hulk, for, well, obvious reasons, and Hawkeye—well, Hawkeye’s a bit of a snark on the best of days.”

Kaner smiled dopily. “Still. I just met Tony Stark—Iron Man—I mean, I use his stuff all the time! And everyone’s heard of Black Widow, and, and _Thor_. A norse god, I mean, really?”

“Hey,” Steve jostled him playfully. “I think you’re forgetting someone.”

“Nick Fury?” Kaner asked, blithely. And, to Steve’s pout, “You don’t count anymore! I feel like… like I’ve known you for a lot longer than just a few hours.”

Steve’s returning smile was soft and did terrible things to his heart. “Yeah, me too.”

He wished the walk to ninth avenue could be forever.

*

The Blackhawks—and the Rangers—were a morose looking group stuffed into the main lobby of some swank hotel, smelling like sweat and still half dressed in their hockey pads. He spotted Sharpy, head ducked down, probably on the phone, and Duncs and Seabs, huddled together with identical looks of unhappiness. Shawsy and Bolly seemed to be attempting a half-hearted game of footsie, and Hayes was sprawled face first in the carpet. 

The second they noticed Kaner hobbling in with Captain America in tow, they all jumped into motion, looking more relieved than he’d ever seen them. He had enough of a conscious to feel guilty about that—he’d known Steve’s phone was working, he could’ve dropped them a ring or something.

…But he hadn’t really wanted to ruin their moment. 

The moment Jonny saw him he made a strangled, hurt noise. “Jesus _fuck_ Kaner.” He said, walking right up to him and promptly enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug.

Kaner was a little too stunned on the whole, ‘Jonny and physical forms of endearment’ to hug back. 

“I was so fucking worried.” He whispered into his ear, sounding genuinely upset. Like he’d spent the last hour of Kaner’s disappearance terrified for his life. “When you didn’t come back… and then the building started falling apart…” Jonny choked. Oh, oh god. Was he crying? Was that a thing Jonny did? “Fuck, Kaner. Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t, I promise. I’m okay, I swear. I’m alive and perfectly okay.” He reached up to return the hug. “Not even a scratch! Well, my leg hurts a bit, but I’m sure it’s no big deal—

“A bit?” Steve cut in, arms folded. Jonny’s attention immediately diverted towards the man in costume—he’d put his cowl back up on the walk over—but Steve only met his gaze evenly. Patrick had to give him credit for that; there were few people in this world who could look head on at Jonny's crazy eyes and remain that impassive.

“Okay, a lot.” He allowed, looking between them and wondering at the tension. “But it’s totally fine!”

Neither Steve nor Jonny looked particularly impressed. “Get it checked out, Patrick.” Steve commanded sternly. It was a true misfortune that Kaner found that so hot; that he found Steve in all his Captain America regalia so hot. He’d be forever sporting a semi when he watched the news now. 

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Patrick threw him a salute. 

Beneath the cowl, he was sure he saw a smile. “You don’t want to make it worse, right? It’d be a shame if you couldn’t play the next time you guys were in town… I’d have to watch my very first hockey game without you there.”

“You…” Kaner blinked, before grinning happily. “Fuck yeah, that’s gonna be a kick ass game. Best sporting event you’ll ever go to—the Rangers are gonna lose though, so, y’know, make sure you root for the right team.”

Steve gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Which would be the Blackhawks, if that wasn’t clear.” He added, cheekily.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Steve said, seriously, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

His palm was big and warm, fingers skittering across his back and thumb a searing hot pressure against his collar bone. It shocked the breath right out of him, eyes wide and fluttering up to Steve’s face. 

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” His voice was a little hesitant—but Kaner could have just been imagining it. It was hard to relate the startling visage of Captain America and anything remotely timid. 

“Of course.” Kaner nodded.

He'd never be able to tell what, exactly, happened in those few seconds before Steve dropped his arm. He felt like Steve could feel his heart beat from where his thumb drew lines, almost unconsciously, against his chest. And Patrick, well Patrick knew what _he_ felt; it felt like everything that was wonderful in the world lingered there between them, but was soiled with anguish from the inevitable ending. Steve though, was undecipherable, expression hidden beneath his mask. And then the moment left, Steve's hand glided down his arm before ultimately settling back against his side, and Patrick wanted to say something, _anything_ , but the words couldn't come out. 

It felt like he’d swallowed something dry and awful and it’d dropped right into the pit of his stomach as he watched Steve walk out of the hotel. 

*

“So, Captain America, huh?” Jonny asked, attempting casual but ruining it with that burning, crazy-eyed stare of his. 

Kaner had expected the question a little sooner, actually. Most of the team had asked him immediately after Steve had left, jumping on him like a pack of hyenas and completely disregarding all their fear and worry over him in favor of picking his brain. Hayes literally kissed him when Kaner told him he'd relayed his question about space termites to Captain America. Jonny had lingered behind the crowd, but he’d stared at him the whole time. Kaner hadn't bothered to try to read his expression; it’d have only been another lesson in futility.

He pulled off his headphones, settling back into his chair on the plane. 

Jonny was still watching him, so he shrugged. “Yeah. Real nice guy—turns out his model PR is actually just him in general.” Which was the generic blanket statement he’d given all the guys. 

He wouldn’t… Steve meant too much to him to reveal anything else. What had happened in that basement was personal, intimate, and between him and Steve. It might make him foolish, but he held the memory close to his heart and childishly refused to share it. 

Jonny scoffed. “That can’t be it all. You were down there for _hours_ , Kaner.”

He wondered if his face looked as defensive as he felt. “So? Jesus, you act like I did it on purpose or something. And yeah, he was really nice and polite, but I was unconscious for most of it.”

Jonny didn’t bite on any of his bullshit, leveling Kaner with a narrow-eyed glare.

“He was awfully close to you.”

“He was helping me walk!” Kaner balked. “Of course he was close—he practically carried me two blocks.”

Jonny frowned further. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Kaner blinked.

Was Jonny… jealous?

One look at his captain, the furrowed set of his brows and the set of his stubborn frown told him yes, yes he was.

Which made no sense because Jonny had been the one to end them. 

He’d been the one to say that Kaner was too, well, _Kaner_ for him. That he didn’t want to do this, couldn't do this, that he wanted something serious.

And Kaner had replied that he could do serious. That he wanted serious, too. 

And Jonny, Jonny had looked at him, brutal and frank, and said, “Not with you.”

And, well, that was two thirds the reasoning for the shitshow that was this summer. The other third he blamed entirely upon the first round flame-out. The rest of it, however, lay entirely on Jonny. Kaner was sure the guy must be aware of it on some level, but Kaner came back for the next season more determined, more serious than ever, and that had been that. 

“I don’t know, man.” He answered eventually. “He’s just a real friendly guy.”

Jonny looked anything but convinced, but Kaner was totally done with this conversation. He flicked on his music, and covered his ears with his headphones, the most obvious sign of dismissal he knew.

Fortunately, Jonny took it without causing a spectacle, retreating to his seat opposite the plane. 

Kaner could feel his eyes the whole flight home.

*

It'd been two weeks since he'd last seen Patrick and he was at his wits end. He didn't know what to do with himself, and may or may not be driving himself crazy with the depressing thought that Patrick lived in an entirely different part of the country and he wouldn't be seeing him for another few months.There was really no other explanation for why he was down here, lamenting this fact to Tony Stark.

And also, admitting that this made him pretty gay.

“ _Seriously_?” Tony boggled, appalled.

Steve flushed. “Well,” He rubbed at his hair. “I just thought, you know, people seem so open about it nowadays—

“No, you’re gay, that’s fine. Whatever. Congratulations.” Tony interrupted. “But a hockey player? Out of all the—A Canadian sport, really? Where’s your sense of patriotism?”

“Hey!” Steve protested, offended. “He’s American!”

Tony didn't reply to that, scoffing. “What, did you just fall for the first cute blonde haired blue-eyed boy to bat his lashes at you? Really Steve, I hadn’t thought you so shallow.”

“That’s not it at all!” He sputtered, defensive. 

This was not how he’d imagined this conversation going

Ever since he’d met Patrick it was like Steve couldn’t get him out of his thoughts. A truly unfortunate circumstance, because once Steve realized Patrick was on TV it became a sick cycle of watching Patrick, thinking about Patrick, and then watching him some more. He didn’t understand any concept of hockey whatsoever aside from the fact that the point was to put the puck in the net, but he religiously coveted every post-game interview Patrick did. And boy, was it a nice sight. Patrick with his slicked back hair, breathless and still flushed from skating, and _licking his lips_ every other word. 

So… yeah.

He definitely, definitely swung that way. And he should probably be thankful Tony was so inviting of that—he was aware there were still a lot of people out there who weren’t as open—but he also could’ve used a little more…. Well, tact. 

“So what, you’ve got a little gradeschool crush on this guy?” Tony laughed, pulling down his welding mask again and turning back to whatever he was tinkering with. 

“You don’t have to make it sound so juvenile.” He retorted rather petulantly, sitting himself on Tony’s workshop desk and fiddling with some kind of small metal trinket. Even though it was kind of true.

“ _I_ don’t have to?” Tony replied, looking up from his work. “You’re the one who’s acting like this kid like, hung the moon or something, coming down into my workshop whilst I’m in the middle of important—”

“Please,” He cut in with a scoff, “You’re playing around and you know it—“

“Whining about some kid you barely met for like, a half hour!” 

“I am not!” He disagreed, but to no avail. Tony had already looked down again. A loud noise erupted from the drill in Tony’s hand, sparks flying everywhere. Steve frowned, waiting for it to stop.

When it did, he continued on. “I just, it’s really bumming me, you know? I don’t know how I’m supposed to see him again, and he’s such a swell guy—

“Really Rogers, I know the telephone was around in your youth, don’t play coy.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I thought it’d be a little creepy to just ask for his number….”

Tony stopped abruptly, lifting his mask to reveal a visage something between incredibly amused and vaguely concerned. “Are you really this incorruptible?”

Steve frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You really don’t think that kid wouldn’t have given you his number? _You_? Captain America? Please, there were stars in his eyes every time he looked at you.”

“No, it wasn’t, he didn’t—“ He paused before continuing meekly, ”Really?”

“Yes.” Tony sighed. “Steve, it’s a simple fact of life that most people would give their left arm for you… I’m pretty sure that kid would give you both.”

… _Really_?

Steve thought back on it, but all he could picture was Patrick leaning against the one side of the closet that still resembled a wall, his blonde curls a wild halo around his face and the way his beaming blue eyes looked when he smiled softly. Steve was entirely sure he imagined the look though, and Patrick had been nothing but polite. Very kind, but altogether nothing overtly sexual about anything he did… he hadn’t seemed interested like that at all.

Although perhaps Steven wasn’t the most adept expert at judging sexual overtones. 

And Tony. Well, if anyone would know, it’d be Tony. 

He sighed. “What can I do now, though? He’s all the way back in Chicago… I don’t think he’s coming back for a while.”

Tony rolled his eyes extravagantly. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

Steve blinked at him. Was this a rhetorical question? With Tony, it was always hard to tell.

Tony threw down his mask with much dramatic flare. “The great Tony Stark, of course! Like this is even a problem for me. Jarvis, could you look up Patrick Kane’s phone number for me?”

“Location?” Came the immediate, robotic reply.

“Chicago, Illinois.”

“Of course, sir.”

Steve palmed his face. “Tony… this is illegal in so many ways—

“Hey, you wanted his number!” Tony pointed out. “Also, it’s completely okay if it’s done in the name of love—

He flushed. “Tony, you can’t just break the law for—

“Please, I do what I want, I’m Tony Stark—

And this was the problem with his and Tony’s relationship; they always managed to talk over each other and never get anything accomplished. No, that was incorrect. _Steve_ managed to never get anything done, but Tony always ended up getting his way. 

“Jarvis, stop please.” He called to the ceiling. He liked looking there when addressing Tony’s AI system; he always found it weird to talk to Jarvis while staring at someone else. Miraculously, Jarvis did.

“Sir?”

Tony pouted. “Hold that thought, Jarvis.”

He turned back to Tony. “If,” He paused, blushing, “ _If_ I’m going to get his number—I’m gonna do it the right way, okay? It just... doesn’t seem polite to do it this way.”

Tony gave him a real sardonic look, but only shrugged.

“Whatever floats your boat, cap.”

“Thanks, Tony.” 

Of course, now the real dilemma became actually finding his number through legal channels. 

*

The next two weeks sucked ass; there really wasn’t a more accurate way to describe the fourteen days he spent hobbling around on crutches. 

A couple of the guys gave him shit for getting an injury from space termites, but aside from that they left Kaner alone to wallow in his own misery. To make matters worse, not only was he benched from hockey—he was also hundreds of miles away from Steve. That really shouldn’t bother him as much as it did, considering he’d only known the guy for a few hours, but somehow he couldn’t stop sullenly puttering around his apartment, cursing his life and wishing Steve was here. 

Which was crazy; Steve belonged in New York, with the Avengers, saving the world. 

And Kaner belonged here, in Chicago, bumming around his apartment and churlishly watching reruns of _Suits_. Or at the very least he belonged in Chicago to play hockey. Regardless, his place was here, and Steve’s place was there, and really he didn’t even know the guy, how could this depress him so much?

He reminded himself that having a foolish puppy crush on a guy like Captain America would only lead to many brooding hours and a lot more episodes of _Suits_ , but he’d always been nothing but stubborn and this was no exception.

Kaner glowered at the TV, burrowing himself deeper into his consolation blanket—which was honestly the best buy he’d ever made for his house—and watched a lot of unfortunate things happen to Mike Ross. 

Well, he consoled himself, his life could be much worse.

He could be Mike Ross. 

A startling buzzing sound made his eyes drift away from the screen. His phone, which had reigned silent for the better part of the last few hours, vibrated obnoxiously against his wood table. He squinted at it, unwilling to emerge from his cocoon for some vexing bitch-call courtesy of one Captain Serious. 

He made a great noise of annoyance and hefted himself up to peer down at the phone screen. Like clockwork, Jonny was calling him.

He put it on silent before it could ruin his brooding time further.

Patrick was in a shit mood—Jonny would just have to wait.

He settled again, silently cursing Jonny for making him miss the best part of the episode, which appeared to be Harvey Specter being a bad ass. That really was nothing new and generally happened once an episode but it was also almost always the best part. Kaner once again bemoaned his life; being a hockey player was like, a thousand times more interesting than being a lawyer, but at this rate Harvey Specter’s life was so much more awesome than his because he _wasn’t even playing hockey_. At least his injury wasn’t too bad. The team doctors said he’d be able to skate on it in a couple days, assuming he didn’t fuck it up again. And Patrick had been very keen to do little else than sit on the couch with his leg propped up, clinging to his Netflix like it was his life support. 

When his phone rang, again, he was sorely tempted to just vault it out the window.

That, or change the ringtone. At the time he’d thought making it 2Chainz had been an incredibly successful life choice—but was quickly beginning to regret it after hearing how much love 2Chainz had for strippers over twenty times in one day.

Kaner grumbled, unwilling to move out of his blanket fort now that he’d gotten situated, and slapped blindly about the table top. He grasped his phone, tugging it inside his nest. 

“What?” He answered, scathingly, without looking at the caller ID. Someone better be dying, or Jonny was going to get a broken nose next time Kaner saw him. 

“Uh—hi? Is this Patrick Kane?”

Well, that definitely wasn’t Jonny. Not nearly monotonous enough for one, and for two, _way_ hotter. 

“Yeah?” He sat up slowly, moving to pause the TV. “Who’s this?”

“This is Steve.” And suddenly, the smooth baritone got about three thousand times more attractive.

“Steve?” And then, stunned, “Steve Rogers—as in, Captain America?”

“Um, well yes. Unless you know any other Steve’s with superhero alter egos.”

Kaner opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Something like inexplicable joy warred in his heart. Finally, he managed to say, “But… how did you get this number?”

“Uh,” And Kaner could almost imagine the blush, the way Steve’s ears were probably going red. “Well, I just asked your management, I guess? They were real swell about it, I was surprised actually; I thought it would take longer.”

Kaner rolled his eyes. Of course they were prompt, he was fucking Captain America. It was truly endearing that Steve always managed to forget that, Patrick thought fondly... how he always managed to forget the entire country would bend backwards for him. Patrick included. Or perhaps the more accurate term for him would be, bend _over_. 

But, more importantly, Steve had gone through Blackhawks management to call him. Personally. Like he actually wanted to talk to him that much.

He pinched his bad leg. 

It hurt like a bitch.

Definitely not dreaming, then.

“Anyway, I just wanted to see how you were doing. Y’know, make sure your leg’s healing up okay.”

 _Or_ maybe he was just calling because he was fucking Captain America, the nicest, most chivalrous human being ever who probably checked up on all the damsels he saved—most of which were probably infinitely more attractive than him. The thought of Steve rescuing some gorgeous blonde Victoria’s Secret-esque woman totally depressed him. 

“I’m fine.” He answered, perhaps a bit too briskly.

“Oh.” And oh god, he sounded a little hurt. “Well, that’s good to hear.”

He immediately felt bad, heaving a sigh. It wasn’t Steve’s fault he was so goddamn attractive and perfect and everything else and Kaner was disappointed in things he didn’t even have a chance of getting. 

He sighed, and made a valiant effort to not sound like a total dick. "It sucks, but I swear I’m not like dying. I just have these obnoxious crutches so I don’t make the injury any worse. Which, I don’t think I ever thanked you for, by the way. I’d take injury by space termites over death by space termites any day.”

“Maybe not death.” Steve mused. “They might have taken you hostage and delivered you to their space termite queen, though.”

“Because that’s so much better!” He sputtered, sitting up and getting comfortable, smiling so hard he was probably dimpling outrageously. Really, this was so pathetic. He was like, conditioned to smile practically every time Steve opened his mouth. In his defense, Steve was surprisingly funny. And he still couldn’t believe he was back-talking to Captain America at all. It was just so effortless to relax into the conversation—Steve was just really easy to talk to. 

That got a chuckle or two out of him. Kaner could listen to Steve laugh for days. “And how’s hockey?”

Kaner blew a raspberry. “I’ve been benched for the past few games, can’t even put on skates. It totally sucks—I’m about to start climbing up the walls, man. Wait, I can’t even do that because of my crutches. I have no idea what to do with myself when I’m not playing hockey.”

Steve chuckled. “I know how you feel. Whenever I get an injury it seems like ages before I can get back out on the field.”

“You actually get injuries?” He wondered aloud.

“Of course.” And then, sheepishly, “They don’t take very long to heal, though.”

Kaner scoffed. “Why am I not surprised? I could totally use some of that super soldier serum right now.”

“Or maybe just some rest.” 

He felt like he could feel Steve’s smile from across the distance, and he felt his own lips move to return it. 

“Well yeah, that too.” He agreed. 

“And about your game in New York... I don't think I ever asked you when it was.”

“It's November 10th.” He recited, hoping it wasn’t that obvious that he’d clearly memorized when the next time he would be in New York was. “Think you can make it?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule.” Steve replied, wryly. “I think I might have a standing dinner date with Doctor Doom.”

“Well, who am I to get in the way of that?” Patrick retorted, playing along. 

He laughed again. Kaner gave himself an air fist-bump in victory at that. “Honestly though, I’m not sure. I’ll try, of course, but I can’t make any promises.”

“Hopefully all those supervillains will take the day off.” And, frowning, “Also, ask Dr. Reed to save his experiments for another day?”

“I’ll be sure to relay the message.” He said, sounding amused. “On that, though, I really make no promises. I’d have better chances of asking Doctor Doom to reschedule his plans for world domination than asking Reed to stop his science.”

Kaner laughed so hard he fell off his couch.

It was a while before he gathered himself enough to be able to form actual sentences again. "You're right. That probably _is_ asking too much."

"But I'll see what I can do." Steve continued on. "It's not like there's a shortage of superheroes around here. I'm sure if something does come up the Fantastic Four or the X-Men could handle it... November 10th, yeah?"

"Yep." Patrick nodded. "Five o'clock." 

"Alright then, it's a date." And with that, the call ended. 

Patrick stared down at his phone, heart working double time. _Date_? He shook his head. This was stupid, of course Steve didn't mean it like that. It was just a saying. Hell, maybe it was something they said in the forties. Either way, Patrick was foolish for working himself over the word.

But as much as he tried, it didn't stop him from hoping.

*

**Author's Note:**

> (In All The Wrong Places-Kero One)


End file.
